


Open Wide

by writerstrash



Series: Raising Peter: Superfamily Oneshots [17]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Peter, Fatherhood, Kid Peter, M/M, Parenthood, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Teen Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerstrash/pseuds/writerstrash
Summary: A little look into a very common phrase for parents.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Raising Peter: Superfamily Oneshots [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260020
Comments: 9
Kudos: 178





	Open Wide

**One Year Old**

Steve must have walked around Peter's room at least a dozen times, slowly rocking the baby in his arms while whispering soothingly and rubbing his back softly. Peter had his head on Steve's shoulder, crying and whining as if his father wasn't even there comforting him. Tony was out on Iron Man duties and as competent and confident as Steve was with their son, he thought many times about calling his husband for advice.

"Shh, shh, you're okay," Steve cooed, pressing a kiss to Peter's curls. "Peter, shh, you're gonna give yourself hiccups,"

By this point, Steve knew no words of comfort were going to do any good. He carefully lowered himself to the ground, stretching his legs out and settled Peter against them so he could look into his son's eyes.

"I wish you could just tell me," he pleaded, genuinely distressed. 

Peter was in a clean diaper, had finished off a bottle, was freshly bathed and dressed in a snuggly onesie. He couldn't have been more ready to go to bed, but the six month old baby just wouldn't calm down. Steve reached out and cupped Peter's face, running his thumb over his cheeks softly. But that only made Peter cry harder, shaking his head. 

He let out a loud wail, throwing his head back dramatically before Steve's hand softened his fall. That's when he caught sight of it. 

"What's in your mouth?" he asked.

Steve gently slid a finger into Peter's mouth, which proved quite easy with how much the boy was crying, to get a better look. The front of Peter's gums were bright red, swollen, and barely masking a white little tooth that was desperately trying to poke through.

"Oh," Steve breathed, slightly surprised.

He shouldn't be surprised. This was totally normal. Peter was at the age for teething. Babies grew teeth. Babies were in pain growing teeth. How did he not think of this?"

"Oh, Pete," he sighed. "I'm so sorry baby. Papa didn't even...papa is _so _silly, Pete,"

Peter continued to cry, hiccups very present now. Steve pulled his son close to his chest once again, standing up and walking them into the bathroom. He grabbed a washcloth and ran some cool water, soaking it all up before rinsing it lightly. He bunched up the corners of the moist material and turned back to Peter. The boy didn't seem too excited about the idea of putting anything in his mouth, and Steve didn't blame him. But once he nudged the washcloth between Peter's lips, he watched his son begin to munch down on it.

Screaming turned into sobs which eventually died down to whimpers as Peter began mouthing at the washcloth, soothing his sore little gums. Steve would get some more and store them in the fridge for him, keeping them as cool as possible.

Later that night, when Peter was finally asleep, Steve called Tony.

"Teething?" his husband replied. "I've been checking for teeth for like, two weeks!"

"Well I haven't," Steve sighed. "And there's one right there, ready to break through, and I didn't even realize!"

"It's not like Peter can _tell _you," Tony explained.

"It should have been pretty clear. And he was in pain for over an hour, Tony,"

"But he's not in pain now, Steve. You found a solution, pretty quickly by the way, and took away his pain," he soothed. "We'll get him some gel and teething rings tomorrow, okay? He's asleep now and if he wakes up, you know what to do. Don't be so hard on yourself,"

"I just didn't think to check his mouth," Steve sighed.

"Well, he's getting teeth now, so I feel like we'll be checking his mouth on the daily,"

* * *

**Three Years Old**

"Peter!" Tony shouted, chasing the toddler down the hall. 

Peter giggled, shovelling more mysterious buds into his mouth as he ran. This was a fun game. Daddy and papa always starting running when Peter put things in his mouth. Sometimes he had nothing, he just liked to play. But today he had something, Tony was sure of it. And Peter was _fast_.

"Pete, you're gonna fall over!" 

"I good runner!" Peter giggled back.

"Well, daddy's kind of slow, so...so how about we...we stop, yeah?" Tony panted.

The corner and corridors were making him dizzy, and the fact that Peter could crawl under furniture to hide was just cheating. Tony continued to hurry after his son, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and slowing him down. Peter giggled wildly, scrambling to get away. Tony knelt down on the hard floor, sliding the boy back toward him and propping him up to sit.

"What's in your mouth?" Tony asked, pulling Peter's hands away from his face.

"Mine!" the toddler squealed.

"Nuh uh, open up," his father instructed, poking his fingers into the boys' mouth. "Peter, spit it out!"

"Mine!"

"Spit it out!"

Tony finally felt something behind Peter's bottom teeth, hooking his finger next to his gums to pull it out. If only thirty year old Tony, standing in the middle of a club with women on either side and not a care in the world, could see what he was doing now. 

Peter let out a long 'ahhhh' sound as he held his mouth open in defeat, watching as his father studied the black mess he was pulling out of his son's mouth. 

"What...is this..._dirt?_" Tony asked, unbelieving. 

"Carrot!" Peter shook his head. 

Tony stared back at him.

"What?"

"They carrots," 

"This is dirt, buddy," Tony pointed. "Where's the carrots?"

"Uh, they growin'," 

"They're growing?"

Peter nodded, pointing back toward the kitchen. Tony lifted the boy into his arms and carried him back, wanting to figure out why the toddler was getting 'dirt' and 'carrot' so muddled up. But, as it turned out, there was logic in Peter's words.

Sitting on the kitchen bench just by the window, next to a trail of dirt and tiny roots, was a ceramic planter pot.

"Papa's carrots," Tony sighed.

"Carrots!"

"Pete, he only planted those like, a week ago," Tony shook his head, unable to hide the amused grin. "Did you just pull out the little roots and...eat them?"

Peter looked confused.

"But...they were small and hard,"

"They were just starting to grow. That was the seed trying to grow, Pete,"

Peter thought for a moment, his little lip beginning to wobble.

"I...I killed 'em?"

Tony immediately saw his mistake there. Peter was just too _precious_ and felt too much and hurt about everything.

"No, no, no," Tony shook his head. "You didn't kill them, baby. They wanted to be eaten, remember? Veggies like making your tummy happy."

"But they weren't grown up yet!"

"It doesn't matter! They're happy you ate them. As long as Peter liked them, they're happy. I mean, they probably tasted awful though,"

"Papa's gonna be mad,"

"No, he won't be mad," 

When was Steve or Tony _ever_ mad with Peter?"

"He still has the seeds around. How about we just plant some more, he won't even know. But you have to promise not to eat these ones, okay? Not until they're long and orange and preferably washed,"

Peter nodded, still quite sad. His teeth were covered in dirt now and all Tony wanted to do was take him to the bathroom and brush his teeth, but Peter didn't look to even mind. Dirt must taste a lot different to three year olds. 

* * *

**Five Years Old**

"Hey! I see you little man!" Steve called out, looking at the curly mess of hair on the other side of the kitchen bench. "I remember saying _no _to cookies before bed,"

Peter giggled, running from the kitchen and down the hall toward his bedroom. 

"Peter!"

Steve couldn't help grinning, but he followed behind his son and wandering into the bedroom were Peter was now hiding. He liked to do this. It was hard to be frustrated when he could see Peter's feet poking out from under his bed. 

"Peter, giva papa the cookie,"

"I don't have a cookie," Peter argued.

"I think you do,"

"Nuh uh,"

"Uh huh," Steve rolled his eyes, reaching down. 

Peter squealed with laughter as his father lifted him by his foot, hanging him upside down gently. It always made Peter laugh, no matter how many times Steve did it. Even when the little boy was in a grumpy mood, he would always giggle.

"Cookie," Steve ordered, holding out his other hand. "Now."

Peter held up his hands. 

"What's in your mouth then, huh?"

Peter shook his head, lips almost parting with his grin. 

"Looks like cookie crumbs to me," 

Then the little boy just couldn't control himself. As soon as he started laughing, cookie went _everywhere_. Steve would be mad if Peter's giggle didn't warm his heart so much. He carefully pulled Peter close and righted him, setting him down on his feet and brushing crumbs off his clothes. His room would need a thorough vacuuming. 

"You're sneaky," Steve shook his head. "Buddy, we can't have cookies this late. Now we have to clean you up for bed again."

"Sorry," Peter sighed, giving his father those eyes that both parents were so weak for.

"No more, okay? None of this tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day,"

"What about the next, next, next, _next _day?"

Steve didn't think anyone would be able to deny that Peter was Tony's son. The little boy had taken on all of his father's attitude, snark and sass. But it was one of the reasons it was so hard to be mad at him. Peter just loved making people laugh. He loved being goofy and not taking things seriously. And as far as Steve and Tony were concerned, he should be _allowed_ that. Peter was a child during a time of Gods and aliens and heroes and wars that weren't meant to be fought.

As the son of two men who put their lives on the line each day, he deserved to have a childhood. He deserved these little, silly moments.

"I don't think you're sneaky enough for that, Pete," Steve shook his head.

"I'll get better,"

"Oh, I don't doubt it for a second,"

* * *

**Fifteen Years Old**

Peter should have been better and sneaking around the tower by now. He knew how to bypass Friday, he knew how to bypass all of his dad's security measures. But sometimes it just wasn't worth the lecture he would get ten minutes later when his father found out.

But from the elevator door to the hall near Peter's room, he had a good three seconds to dart across the room without being seen. He was a quick kid, but just not quick enough.

"Pete," Steve called out, catching his son out the corner of his eye.

"Your home early," Tony added, looking up from his tablet. 

They were in the living room, discussing their plan for the government bill they were helping to draft. It should have been more important than what was on Peter's face, but apparently it wasn't.

"Yeah, we got an early mark, I was gonna let you know but I thought I'd walk and get some fresh air," Peter explained.

"Uh huh," Tony mumbled. "Turn your head,"

"Turn my head?"

"Look toward the door,"

"No, why are you being weird?" 

"Something's on your cheek, Pete," Steve narrowed his eyes.

Peter pulled his hand up to his face, cupping his cheek and wincing at the immediate pain he felt. He had avoided contact with it for the past hour, and in less than a second he brought all of the ache back once again.

"What was that?" Tony prodded, now staring at his son, tablet forgotten on the couch beside him.

"It's nothing," Peter shook his head, words muffled.

Steve continued staring at his son, standing up to move just in front of him.

"Peter, hey, look at me,"

Peter turned slightly, pursing his lips together. His jaw was throbbing. 

"Open your mouth," Steve told him gently.

Peter shook his head. 

"Why not?" Tony asked. "Hey, don't hide from us Pete,"

Peter looked between his parents, seeing the worry in their eyes. He took a deep breath and parted his lips, feeling the blood spill out and run down his chin. Tony gasped and shot up, rushing over with his jacket. He pushed it into Peter's hand and held it up to his mouth, uncaring of the brand of cost of said jacket.

"Oh, Pete," Steve sighed. "Buddy, what happened?"

"I'm fine," the teen mumbled, shaking his head. "It looks worse than-"

"It looks like you're bleeding, Pete. Which means it _is _as bad as we think," Tony cut him off. "I'll get you some ice,"

Steve led Peter to sit down on the couch, his hand reaching up to cup his cheek gently and lovingly. Whenever Peter got hurt or sick, it physically pained Steve to sit there and witness it without being able to do anything. He winced as Peter groaned in pain, rubbing his cheek.

"My teeth...cut into my cheek," Peter whined. "Really deep...really sore,"

"How did that happen?"

Peter sighed, leaning back further into the couch. 

"Got pushed into my locker,"

Tony walked back into the room radiating anger. Not toward Peter, but toward whoever had pushed him. Toward whoever put their hands on his son 

"Who?" Tony asked, the anger in his voice not matching his gentle movement to press ice against Peter's jaw. 

Peter, like every other time his parents questioned him about bullies, just shook his head. 

"They're not important,"

"Pete, they hurt you," Steve sighed.

"And they're not important," the boy repeated. "Not worth whatever you guys want to do to them,"

"I want the school to know, buddy. No one should have to deal with being bullied,"

"A lot of kids get bullied, pops. _Way _worse than the stupid crap I deal with."

"Doesn't make it any better," Tony shook his head.

"I know," Peter agreed. "But I can handle it. If it ever got too much...I'd tell you guys."

"But you wouldn't," 

"Just let me handle it, please. I need to take care of it myself,"

Tony looked away with a shake of his head as Steve let out a defeated sigh. 

"You know, sometimes you're a little too much like your parents, kid," 

* * *

**26 Years Old**

Tony had fixed his tie dozens of times now. It was a nervous tick of his that he just never grew out of. Even at his age now, he couldn't help himself. 

"You should go check on him," Steve suggested.

"You've always been better and calming his nerves, Steve," Tony shook his head.

"Maybe, but this feels very much like a _dad_ situation, not papa," he continued.

Tony smiled.

"Papa," he sighed. "Haven't heard him call you that-"

"I know, I'm pops now," Steve laughed. "I like when he says it though. He goes red, like a little kid all over again,"

"Are you sure I should go?"

"You've never given yourself enough credit for this part of parenting," Steve assured, rubbing his husband's arm. "I'll be ready when you guys are, okay?"

Tony thought for a moment.

"Okay,"

A few minutes later, Tony was knocking on Peter's door. He could hear music playing inside, could hear Ned's voice talking rapidly, and he could practically hear Peter's nerves shuddering through the whole building.

"Pete, it's dad," Tony called out.

Ned opened the door, holding his phone just by his ear. 

"Hi Mr. Stark," 

Even in adulthood, Ned couldn't call him Tony.

"I'm just getting the last things sorted," he explained. "Peter's all ready to go,"

Tony grinned, looking over Ned's shoulder to see his son standing by the window. The man wandered away, continuing his phone call, and Tony took his chance to go over to Peter and take a moment to chat to him. Just the two of them. 

But as he approached, he could see Peter's face twisted in disgust and pain.

"Whoa, hey," Tony frowned. "Jesus, what's in your mouth Pete?"

Peter swallowed, letting out a long groan and shaking his head rapidly as if it was going to help whatever he was feeling. Tony steadied him, not wanting him to drip any drooling saliva onto his tux. MJ would kill him. Well, she probably wouldn't care, but Tony would. There were only a few days in Peter's life that would be documented so thoroughly and be looked back on with such fondness, he was going to make sure the suit was clean. 

"Whiskey," Peter gasped, shaking his head. "Ugh, no, no, no, don't like it,"

Tony laughed.

"Whiskey? When have you _ever_ liked whiskey?"

"I don't like whiskey," he shook his head, again. "Ned...said it would help...nerves,"

"Well, usually...but not you. You've never really liked alcohol bud, have you?"

"It burns!"

"I know," Tony laughed. "Do you feel better?"

"No, I mean, yeah, yeah I do, but not because of the whiskey," he sighed. "Can you hug me?"

Tony didn't need to be asked. Tony didn't need to consider it for a second. His son could be _his_ age and he would still hug him whenever he wanted it. Peter took a deep, calming breath and Tony wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tight. 

"I'm not nervous," Peter whispered.

"I know. It's okay if you are, though."

"I love MJ," Peter continued. "I want this. I _asked _her to marry me. It's not like anyone's being forced. She...she wants this too,"

The way he said it made it seem like a question, and Tony could tell that Peter's insecurities were rising.

"Of course she does," he assured. "Peter, she loves you so much kiddo. So much that she's wanting to love you for the rest of your lives,"

Peter nodded.

"Did you feel kind of...kind of weird when you married pops?"

"Yeah, I did," he nodded. "It's not nerves, exactly, is it? I know what you mean. It's a weird feeling. It's a big thing, marriage. But when you think about it, it's really small. It's just a piece of paper telling you exactly what you both already know. That you love each other and you'll be there for one another for as long as you both can. What's big is the wedding, especially for someone who doesn't like attention,"

Peter nodded.

"I never really liked the spotlight, and today it's gonna be on me specifically,"

"You definitely inherited that from your pops,"

"I just don't want to screw anything up and ruin it for her, you know? She's gonna look so beautiful in her dress and she's gonna have something written that's going to actually kill me, and I just...I want her to have the day she deserves,"

God, Tony couldn't deal with this kid.

"Pete, you could go out there in your underwear and bed hair and MJ would still smile and say 'I do',"

Peter grinned at that.

"I know,"

"So just ignore everyone else," Tony shrugged. "On the day I married your pops, he was all I could see. We could have been in an empty room for all I knew. This day is for you and MJ, alright? That's all you have to think about. That's the only person that's gonna be in that room."

Peter nodded, fixing himself up. He fiddled with his bowtie, eventually leading to Tony taking over to straighten it out and make sure his suit was perfect. 

Then, before Peter knew it, he was standing outside and readying himself to walk into the venue with his groomsmen. 

"Hey, dad, pops?" Peter began, looking between his parents. "Thank you. For getting me here."


End file.
